Storm of the Century: The Ralphie Anderson Saga
by Stevis
Summary: 40 years in the wake of the great storm of 1989. Young Ralphie Anderson, whose disappearance would have baffled outsiders, is nothing more than a memory. Or is he?


CHAPTER 1  
  
The middle-aged man sat on the red wingback chair just gazing at the wall in front of him, mumbling and chanting under his breath. His eyes alternated slowly between his normal color of brown, to black, to glowing red, back to black, back to the glow again. He clenched his fist, released it, clenched it, then finally flattened his hands out on the arms of the chair.  
  
His eyes turned brown again. He looked down and looked right back up. He put his left hand in the shape of a C and put it up in the air in front of his head. His hand extended outward almost as far as it would go and his eyes turned black. The C-shaped hand went back towards him, and extended. The chanting and incoherent mumbling started again.  
  
In the other room, the sound of an old man's cough suddenly filled the TV room. The hacking cough continued a few more times.  
  
A cane leaning up against the wall between the two rooms suddenly stood on its end. The man continued to mumble and move his hand back and forth as if he were pulling something out of the air. The cane, with its ominous wolf's head as a handle, moved away from the wall a little bit more. It was about halfway between the door to the other room and the man in the chair. It stood still all of a sudden, its bottom now hovering about a foot above the ground.  
  
The man flattened his hand back out and placed it back on the arm of the chair. He stuck his right hand in the air, his elbow remained on the arm of the wingback. He extended his index finger and started rotating it slowly.  
  
The cane now started revolving with the same pace as the man's finger. The wolf's head on the top started moving. Its ears perked up, the eyes got bigger, and some fangs were starting to show.  
  
The pace of the man's mumbling now began to increase and his eyes were a constant red glow. He put his hand back on the arm of the chair. His fists would clench and release, clench and release.  
  
The coughing from the other room resumed and was sounding more and more violent. It sounded like an old man with a hack from smoking Camels for 50 years. He coughed three or four more times and tapered off again.  
  
The man flatted his hands back out on the arm of the chair. His eyes turned back to brown and he postured himself in the chair. The cane had drifted over to the chair and positioned itself right next to the man's left arm. He grabbed the cane and pointed the bottom of it towards the television on the wall. The television came on. Harry Potter appeared on the screen. The man put the cane back beside the chair and started watching the movie with interest.  
  
There was a single cough again from the other room.  
  
CHAPTER 2  
  
One of Little Tall's squad cars pulled up in a fury on the side of the new Little Tall Constable station. The car comes to a fast halt, slams into park and shuts off.  
  
The prisoner in the back of the car was kicking on the inside of the door and screaming. Deputy Ron Hopewell paced along side of the car and opens the door where the prisoner's feet are still flailing a little bit. He was cuffed around his ankles and around of wrists, of course. His face was read and he was sweating profusely. Hopewell was even getting a little worn out and his brown hair was falling into his forehead.  
  
"Alright now," said Hopewell. "We can either do this the right way or we can play the tough guy act again." "That sonofabitch back there..." Hopewell looked at his face and cut him off. "Oh shut your ass up. Let's go."  
  
Hopewell looked over his shoulder and saw Mike Finch coming around the side of the building not knowing whether to go over and help or just watch.  
  
"Finch!" yelled Hopewell. "Come over and give me a hand with this cretin."  
  
Without saying a word, Finch hustled over to the car where Hopewell was trying to keep the bad guy under control. Finch grabbed his right arm in a secure fashion so he didn't try to squirm. Hopewell guided the prisoner along from the back, holding him so he wouldn't trip over the shackles linking his ankles.  
  
They walked the hooligan up the steps and Hopewell went to get the door. The prisoner was pretty was pretty calm by this time. Finch, with his large and muscular frame, was having his way now. He guided him through the door of the Constable's Station.  
  
CHAPTER 3  
  
The man in his big black trenchcoat was still sitting in the wingback watching his movie with great enthusiasm. His brown eyes were fixed on the television as he was popping cookies into his mouth. Without taking his eyes off the television, he'd grab one and eat half of it, half of the second piece, and the third piece he shoved in his mouth. Second cookie, he did the same thing. The third and fourth cookies. Same and same.  
  
The door opened from the other room, with a slow and deliberate pace. The door whined eerily as it opened up all the way. The man in the chair did not budge, nor did his eyes.  
  
The coughing old man came out of the room. He was the ghastly appearance of a walking dead man. He coughed a little bit as he came out of the room. He put his hand on the door frame and stuck his other hand out flat.  
  
His eyes, surprisingly vivid considering the rest of his frail body, turned black for a second. The cane leaning up against the wingback chair floated across the room. The wolf's head on the top of the cane fit into the old man's hand like a socket.  
  
He walked gingerly towards the kitchen, putting a huge amount of weight on the cane. He stopped in the middle of the kitchen. All the lights were off and just a little bit of sunlight was making its way in under the curtain over the sink. He pointed the cane towards the closed kitchen pantry. The door opened rapidly and a gust of wind whisked through the kitchen.  
  
His eyes turned black and he put the cane's bottom on the floor to support himself. A tea kettle on the third shelf from the top began to move up and down calmly. He was humming softly and began to sing.  
  
"I'm a little teapot, short and stout,"  
  
The teapot came out of the pantry and drifted slowly across the kitchen towards the sink. It went in a straight line towards the sink, but it bobbed up and down ever so slightly.  
  
"Here is my handle and here is my spout," he chimed slowly and deliberately.  
  
The tea kettle made its way over to the sink. It made one last bob upward before it lay down in the sink. The water faucet came on and water rushed out, full blast.  
  
"When I get all steamed up, I will..."  
  
The water suddenly stopped. The kettle was nowhere near full. The old man suddenly devoted more attention to the water.  
  
"Shit," the old man muttered under his breath.  
  
His eyes turned black, nothing happened. He pointed his cane at the sink and started mumbling. Still, nothing happened. He released the cane, but it continued to float right near his hand, as if the wolf had an undying loyalty. He started to get mad. He put his hands in the air and pulled them back down in a swooping fashion.  
  
"Flow! Flow, dammit!" he screamed.  
  
The water never came back on. The kettle floated out of the sink and started out towards him. It made a straight line, again, bobbing up and down like a wave. The old man was stunned. He didn't know what to do next.  
  
The kettle suddenly crashed to the floor right in front of his feet. Water went everywhere including all over the old man's legs and feet. He had a look of devastation on his face.  
  
The man in the wingback snapped his fingers on both hands simultaneously. He drifted out of the room.  
  
There was a star of David on the television screen. It suddenly sparked on fire and words appeared. The whole star was engulfed and the sentence read, "The LEGION is coming to an end!."  
  
The word "the" became engulfed in flames and quickly disappeared. The letters in "legion" started jumbling themselves, like pieces of fruit on a Vegas slot machine. In the end, the words read, "LINOGE is coming to an end."  
  
A long gust of wind started blowing through the house from the front door. The whole sentence flashed in alternating shades of orange. There was devilish laughter coming from the television screen. The whole screen engulfed itself into an image of flames. It suddenly went off and a test pattern appeared. 


End file.
